Love You
by lotus-brody
Summary: Fluffy EG slash from George's perspective. I wrote it while watching season five at three in the morning. Elliot feels guilty for injuries he couldn't prevent. RnR!


Disclaimer: I do not own Elliot or George, or any of the others. I would like to, but I do not.

A/N: This was written before I heard of the episode where George gets smacked up. I swear. That's why it probably has no bearing upon that episode (as I still haven't seen it). This is totally from my imagination And it was written at three in the morning, so any inconsistancies is the lack of coffee's fault.

"Love You."

I looked across the table, folding my hands and spreading my fingers in a fan. The perpetrator across from me was quite probably the worst in recent memory. There was something disquieting about those dark brown eyes. His face was angular and he had a scar on his neck that almost exactly resembled the ones on the girls. I could see the slowly turning wheel inside him. I had no doubt he was the rapist. The gruesome pictures flashed through my mind, the mutilated face, the fragile, strung up body… what had possessed him to do it? Scars on his wrists, too… _Not_ self-inflicted.

"You mentioned a bad childhood to one of the detectives – what happened?" I asked.

"Thought I told ya, chink! I doan wanna talk aboudit!"

I narrowed my eyes. I was definitely treading on thin ice. I'd been getting the racist remarks from the get go, but I could see the slowly pulsing vein in his temple getting quicker, forehead getting red.

"Do you think she resembles your mother?"

_SLAM!_ The perpetrator, Jake Peterson, slammed his fist down onto the table. I didn't flinch, but I felt like an ice cube slipped down into my stomach.

"We're not talkin' aboudat bitch, Yellah Monkey!"

Hmm.

"Why did you hurt Anna?"

"She had it comin'. She wanted it an' she back-talked me an' no way I takin' that from some tea swillin' British bitch!"

"Have you hurt other women?"

"Shaddup."

I moved my hands down, lacing my fingers together. I had to be careful, I had to make sure I didn't provoke an attack, but I needed to get to him and none of the other detectives would work for this. Olivia would simply be scorned, as would Fin. I had a feeling that Elliot's method of persuasion, either throttling or attempting to appeal to his nature by saying things which suggested he held the same beliefs would be rejected. Munch currently was on vacation, someplace hot as I recalled. So that left either the captain or me, and I suggested myself.

"Why did you tie her in that manner? It resembles the scars on your wrists and neck."

"SHADDUP CHINK!" he slapped his hands down again, rising from his chair. I rose at the same time, arms out, trying to make it seem like I wasn't threatening. "KEEP PUSHIN'!"

"I'm-"

"FUCK YOU CHINK!"

Before I could blink the perpetrator was flying at me. His hand clenched my sweater, yanking me around. A fist slammed into my face, my eye and cheek stung, I tasted my own blood flowing in my mouth. I was vaguely aware of a screaming voice as the assault continued. It might have been my own. _What-?_

Suddenly Peterson was ripped off of me. I saw them thrown into the table; the motions slow, like I was watching a movie. They were yelling, blood on his knuckles, sandy hair catching in the light. Someone else was on him, his elbow kept appearing and disappearing. I associated it with punching a moment later as I blinked, noticing a little trickle of blood by my eye.

"Y'bastard!" they yelled. "Make y'feel like a man, attackin' someone tryin' ta help!"

His New York accent always did get bad when he was angry. I kind of liked him for it. Such passion, the thing I oft admired him most for, but at this moment it was being channeled in the wrong way. It was Elliot. At this moment my heart soared knowing he was protecting me. Not for the first time I had to swallow down the unprofessional feelings for him. My eyes went misty, but I guess people would think it was pain. Cragen and Tutuola came running into the room, pulling him off Peterson. Olivia was helping me up.

I found myself upstairs a minute later, the motions lost, I was still sort of dazed. I'd never been attacked like this before, but of course there was a first time for everything. There was a coffee done how I like it close by, Elliot was across from me with his head in his hands, visibly trembling. Olivia set down a first aid kit and I attempted to patch myself up in a mirror, refusing help. "I am a doctor," I'd said.

I was shaking too I noticed after a moment.

Elliot whimpered. It tore at my heart. No one else was nearby, so only I heard. I looked at him, and he glanced at me. I didn't know what to say. I smiled at him and he gave me a half-smile back.

"Thank you," I said.

"No prob. Wasn' it just today I was tellin' you we watch our own – shrink or no."

"Yeah."

Olivia was at the top of the stairs. "He's going to Bellevue to get treated, then off to Central Booking. You two alright?"

"Fine." I said.

Elliot nodded.

We were alone after a moment. I had an urge to take his hand, but I fought it. He looked at me with hollow eyes and said, bluntly, "you look like shit."

"Thanks."

"Any time."

Sometimes I wonder what's really going on behind those sapphire blues. Right now I could definitely see something more than professional there.

My cheek and eye darkened and I had several bruises on my gut. The cut above my eye was small and my lip was swollen. I hated the looks I got from people. And the continuous questioning about the origin of those wounds was getting old quick. Elliot always turned away, swallowing hard whenever he saw me, grabbing his shirt; I noticed the left side most often.

I was alone at the squad room a few days later pouring over some files when I heard a door open. I glanced over and there was Elliot framed in the door, the back drop the lights.

"Anything?" he asked softly.

"No. The victims cuts are so uniform, and precise, it's almost like the attacker is trying to show us something."

"Maybe he thinks its art."

I turned to look at him, smiling. Interesting angle.

He walked up behind me, hand on the chair nearby, arm pressing against my back. His other supported him against the desk. His cheek was almost against my temple. I heard his heartbeat.

"Can I drive you home?" he asked me softly, "you didn't drive today."

"It would save me bus fare," I said, turning. I was almost directly in his arms. His eyes were so close, just perfect windows. Not for the first time in our history of working with each other did I want to kiss him. So wrong, but…

I flinched at the touch of his hand on my bruised cheek and his eyes went misty after a moment. I wanted him to slip his fingers under my chin and tilt my head up and kiss me.

We walked down to his car and he drove me silently to my apartment building, all the way in SoHo. He had a long drive back to Queens. I asked him if he wanted coffee or something. He said "yah, sure," and I noticed the accent.

He followed behind me, taking my arm when I stumbled. I opened my apartment building and let me guide him inside, flicking on the lights. When the lights were properly on me his eyes went misty again and he looked like he was having trouble breathing.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there sooner," he said in a raspy, dry voice.

"It's alright."

I walked past him for the cupboard with what little alcohol I kept around the house. He took my arm and pulled me close again. His hand found my chin and tilted my head up, kissing me, soft lips against mine. I didn't know why I was expecting them to be a little rougher. His arms squeezed my shoulders and after a moment his tongue caressed my lips and I moaned.

He pulled away, he was crying, kissing my brow, my eyelid, my cheek, and then the corner of my lips.

"God I'm so fucking sorry," he sobbed, holding me tighter.

"Shh," I said soothingly, "I just pushed too hard."

"No, you didn't. I…"

I took his hand and pulled him towards my bedroom door. He turned off the lights as we went. The door shut behind him and I was working against his tie. His mouth found mine again and there was a little lance of pain up the side of my face, but it felt like it was coming from another time. His hands slipped button after button open on my shirt. He pulled it out of my dress pants and slipped it off my shoulders. A moment later his tie was gone and I was doing the same.

He stopped me, looking at my stomach. Three dark bruises. His eyes watered again. "God-"

"Shh."

He kissed me; I kissed him back, touching the corner of his lips, tasting salt from his tears.

"I, I… I've never had the courage to act on this need I've always had, and maybe that's why our relationship's always been strained, an' now I try an' protect you an' now it's not enough…"

"It's enough."

I kissed him again and we leaned into the bed. It hurt, but I didn't care. Later I'd ask him why he was so emotional about this. He was always so distant, so tough; he always bottled _everything_ up inside. I knew that perhaps all alone he'd let it out, but not around others, especially not another man.

"Cathy left me, and talking to you I… I…"

"I understand that, it happens often."

"Obviously it goes both ways."

I smiled.

Soon we started kissing again; the pain was welcome. He handled me so tenderly, so carefully, undressing me, kissing over the bruise like a flick of a feather. He let me lie back – the pain was now an ache and I was trying to force it away.

We kissed again, his arms around me, but only for a time. He stroked me gently with obvious inexperiance and brought me over the edge. I returned the favor even though he said he didn't need it. I made him take off his pants and pull up against me and hold me.

His lips skimmed over my neck. "I want to tell you something but I'm afraid."

"I understand."

"No. Yes. I guess you do. It's hard to say."

"I love you too."

"I almost did this so many times. But when I saw you crying out, and…"

"Shh," I said again for the umpteenth time.

"Ah, shush yourself."

He flicked off the bedside light and his hand squeezed mine after dancing over my chest a moment.

"Love you."

I chuckled softly. My hand tightened around his. He kissed my ear and I began to drift off, feeling his smile against my shoulder.


End file.
